


i'm not seeing things right

by murphysarc



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bellamy-centric, Death, F/M, I'm Sorry, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:16:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/pseuds/murphysarc
Summary: ["...this is not his imagination. When he touches another human’s skin, he – he doesn’t see when, he doesn’t see why, he only sees how, and that’s the worst part of it..."]or, bellamy sees how people will die. title from "not today" by twenty one pilots.





	i'm not seeing things right

**Author's Note:**

> honestly? idk man!
> 
> also. some of the things bellamy says are...well, insensitive, particularly for this subject matter. i think it's more honest that way. know that, of course, those are not my views.

**i.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes downcast on the rest of the world,_

_searching for an exit amidst the carnage_

_below._

**ii.**

When he was only six, Bellamy grasped Octavia’s hand for the first time and saw a vision of the future, years down the line, of her adult body succumbing to a gunshot.

When he was only six, Bellamy had no way of knowing this horrible instance was the first of many. He had no way of knowing this was his doing, that his touch was forever cursed, that he was victim to the most horrendous of afflictions.

Maybe he’d known, if his father had lived, but that was far beyond the comprehension of his six-year-old mind.

“My responsibility,” he said, staring at his newborn sister.

 _My responsibility_ , is what he’ll think years down the line, ready to do anything to prevent her horrible fate.

 

**iii.**

From then on, they’re recurrent.

He’ll graze his mother’s arm, see her body thrown out into space. The longer he makes contact, the more of the scene is clear.

The more of the scene he knows, well, the more he remembers. Soon, even just a look at her eyes makes him sick to his stomach.

Still, though – it’s his imagination. He’s anxious, twisted, _wrong_.

His hand meets Chancellor Jaha’s in what is meant to be a congratulatory handshake for graduating. Instead of tired but kind eyes, he sees dead ones as Jaha is bludgeoned to death, strong and tattooed arms holding him down as his body gives up.

Bellamy starts to cry.

 

**iv.**

These days, he wears gloves.

He wears them to he can hold his sister without crushing despair, without hearing the shot that takes her life.

He wears them so that he can say goodbye to his mother, holding her close for only seconds before he shuts his eyes as she is floated. It’s fine – he’s already seen her death so, so many times.

Her death, traumatic as it is for him and Octavia, who spends the next part of her life in a cell – it’s a confirmation for him.

This is not his imagination. When he touches another human’s skin, he –

he doesn’t see when, he doesn’t see why, he only sees _how_ , and that’s the worst part of it.

 

**v.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes broadcasting to the sky,_

_praying to gods he doesn’t believe in,_

_praying to gods that can do nothing but scorn._

**vi.**

The guard’s uniform does not allow him to keep his gloves on, so he becomes a janitor. Classmates in higher ranks shake their heads as he passes with his mop, as if they’re _so_ disappointed, but they’re only glad their fingers are not curled around a mop.

Bellamy keeps his gaze downwards on the floor. He’s got a plan. He’s _always_ got a plan.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he finds his bare hands around the trigger of a gun, Jaha’s back to him. They’re alone. Now is his only chance.

_My responsibility._

Jaha turns. The bullet enters his chest. Jaha falls.

It’s fine, Bellamy tells himself as he runs, slowing only when he has to. Jaha’s death is not by gunshot. If he was right about his mother, then – then he’s right about all of them. Isn’t he?

He doesn’t know what he has, or how it works, or how to use it. He has no clue.

_My responsibility._

Minutes before the shuttle detaches and sends one hundred kids down to Earth, he hits the only remaining guard with his gun. His fingers make brief contact, brief enough to see the guard suffocating in a crowded room.

It’s evidence, at least, that the Ark is going to fail. Maybe that makes what he’s doing selfish, as if it somehow wasn’t already.

He stands near the back of the shuttle, unnoticed by the occupants. He’s careful to keep his hands to himself – somewhere along the way, his gloves fell out of his pockets.

 

**vii.**

He can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Octavia when she yells his name. It’s been over a year, and she’s – she’s everything.

Bellamy’s eyes remain closed during the embrace, but he still sees her body. The blood creeps slowly outwards, as if death has given her a pair of wings.

It’s not beautiful. His stomach turns the longer he sees it, but he will _not_ deny her this moment.

She’s the first person to step foot on the ground, and that is beautiful.

 

**viii.**

He lets Murphy stick by him because Murphy doesn’t ask questions. Bellamy knows enough of his own pain to see the same in Murphy, but he doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t answer. The less they know about each other the better it will be.

He’s forced to grab the other boy’s shoulders to pry him away from Wells. He’s careful – he grabs the jacket, not Murphy, and avoids the skin-to-skin contact, but then Murphy’s hand pushes back and briefly, they meet.

Murphy’s scarred body is burned, badly. Another woman he doesn’t recognize has her arms around his corpse, her sobs echoing around an empty area –

It’s over now, it’ll be over then, it’s over for them all.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says to Murphy, one night, both their backs against a tree, eyes on the camp, “but I’m happy you’re here.”

“Is there a right way to take that?”

Silence, then, “Look, I’ll be here, okay? I will.”

Murphy nods, swallows, unsure how to respond to words he’s never heard. “Okay.”

 

**ix.**

He wonders if he can stop it, somehow.

Maybe he can change them. Maybe that’s the point of all this pain, this torture – to _stop_ these horrible, violent endings.

Maybe they’re meant to be beginnings, though…he suspects the universe is not that kind.

 

**x.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes turned inwards to himself,_

_disgusted by the scars he’s taken on_

_in all his acts of courage._

**xi.**

Charlotte’s hand is soft. Her death is not.

He sees her hurtling downwards, off a cliff. There is no fear in her eyes. This is a purposeful action, he can see that, he –

“I don’t know how,” she says. He’s said something about slaying your demons, but he doesn’t mean it like _that_.

“If you’re going to kill yourself, just get it over with,” he says, ripping his hand away from hers. She flinches and runs. This only makes him angrier.

So much death Bellamy has seen. So many _good_ people who have horrible ends awaiting them, endings that they do not have a choice in. He’s got no sympathy for –

Charlotte proceeds to keep running until she jumps off a cliff. Sure, he feels guilty, but it’s not the first time. It won’t be the last.

 

**xii.**

Murphy pushes someone a little too hard, a little too much, and they push back. They push back until there is a crowd screaming for a lynch.

“Listen to yourselves!” Clarke is screaming. She’s always the voice of reason, a good person to the core. Bellamy doesn’t yet know what her end will be. He doesn’t have it in himself to see what death will bring her.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” Wells is yelling, now, joining his voice with Clarke. They make a good pair, sometimes. Just – mostly, Clarke is too busy giving Wells side-eyes to notice he’s a better leader than Bellamy could ever claim to be.

Bellamy looks back once, sees Octavia safe in her tent. He watches her for a second to check that she isn’t venturing forwards before he pushes his way through the crowd.

It’s inevitable, but –

_he sees fire, he sees drowning, he sees bullets enter heads and spears enter chests, he always hears their final screams, none of them are going peacefully, it seems –_

Then it’s done, and he stops in the center of the crowd, taking deep breaths to clear his mind.

 _None of them are going peacefully_.

Wells is still screaming to deaf ears, horrified, but still watching the mob string Murphy up for – for what, really? For being an ass?

Murphy’s only looking at Bellamy, though.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, and since when did any of this become his problem?

Deep breath, and – “Everyone!”

They stop, but only because Murphy’s up there, noose around his neck, feet straining to touch the bucket below.

“This is not how we do things!” he yells, making eye contact with those who don’t have much life left in them. “This is not who we are!”

Clarke interjects, which is good, because he doesn’t have much more to say. “I know you’re frustrated, but if we hanged everyone we don’t like, then this whole camp would be gone.”

Murmurs of dissent spring up. For the most part, though, she’s got them. “Murphy will have to work, like we _all_ do,” she continues. “But we’re better than this. We’re better than – than Jaha!”

Bellamy can tell Clarke doesn’t mean those words, but she knows it remains the only common unifier among the crowd before her. Wells stiffens, too, but he doesn’t protest. He’s much kinder than his father.

It’s all going to be great. It’s all going to be –

Someone’s kicked the bucket. Murphy falls downwards, hands scrambling at the rope, breath leaving his body.

Bellamy starts towards him, but someone – one of the more brutish boys – holds him back and he can only watch, until he sees the boy holding him die of some form of sickness. He’s coughing up blood, a terrifying pain the thing that does him in.

In this moment, he deserves it.

Wells is the one to break free and finally cut Murphy down. Somehow, Murphy survived, but – things are not going to be the same.

Cliché, maybe, but honest.

 

**xiii.**

“You weren’t there.”

Bellamy sighs, nods, swallows. Murphy’s words are those he’s heard one too many times over. “I know.”

“You said – never mind about it. I’ll kill them. I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I _will_.”

Their shoulders make contact, and Bellamy sees Murphy’s charred body. There’s more clarity to the scene, though – the area he’s in is pristine, a laboratory, maybe. There are other people, too vague to make out, but the woman holding his body, howling her pain…she looks like a Grounder, maybe.

“You won’t.”

 

**xv.**

He ends up telling Murphy what he can do.

“So you’re like – an angel of death, then?” Murphy puts it crudely, yet somewhat accurately, Bellamy supposes.

“Yeah, I – I guess. I just see how people are going to die when I touch them.”

Murphy nods, then looks at his hand, thinks of all the times they’ve made contact. “Do you know how – how I die?”

“Yes.”

“Is it bad?”

Objectively, yes, Bellamy guesses that it is. Murphy doesn’t look to much older in his death scene, so it’s soon, and people do not burn to death quickly.

Bellamy’s silence says all Murphy needs to know.

 

**xiv.**

The Grounders attack more often than they don’t, and the delinquents are losing – badly. Bellamy’s taken to holdings hands with the worst of the wounded, willingly watching the visions of their deaths. If it’s then, in that moment, he’ll stay with them until the end. If it isn’t, he’ll call Clarke, and she’ll do what she can.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Murphy asks, once he’s figured out what Bellamy’s doing.

“Yes,” he replies, “but the difference is, I get to keep living.”

 

**xv.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes on his own hands,_

_regretful of the actions he’s done with them,_

_regretful that he did not do more._

**xvi.**

Clarke tries to detonate her bomb, Raven tries to finish it in time but – the Grounders win. Anya takes control of their camp.

She starts enacting punishments by lining up the remaining delinquents, killing whoever she likes. In the end, there are fourteen of them left standing. Clarke and Murphy kneel on either side of Bellamy. Silently, he looks down the line, looks at which of his friends are allowed to live.

There’s Octavia, Monty, Raven, Jasper, Harper, Monroe, Wells…the rest he doesn’t know well enough to recognize them through their pain.

Anya keeps them in a line but chains them. Her hands do not touch Bellamy’s skin. He has no advantage.

 

**xvii.**

It takes weeks for them to make it where Anya’s going. Two of them drop dead, leaving only twelve behind. Sometimes, Bellamy will stare absentmindedly at the wristbands the rest of them wear, signalling absentmindedly to the Ark. He wonders if ten signals are enough.

He wonders if Jaha is still alive.

They finally reach an overbearing tower, the top hurtling into the sky. He doesn’t know how they’ve never seen this before.

Around the base of the tower seems to be a city, or a market, maybe. Grounders of all kinds with all different markings mill about, some of them stopping to stare, some of them avoiding eye contact.

There, amongst the crowd, Bellamy sees her – the woman from Murphy’s death. She doesn’t look angry or terrified, as most of the others do. She seems only intrigued.

He wonders, now, how she’ll play into any of this. She must. At the very least, she’ll change Murphy’s story. Maybe that’s all that can be hoped for.

 

**xviii.**

They’re forced to kneel in what must be a throne room. A tall Grounder sits in the throne. She’s tall, yes, but still the throne seems to large for her.

“Heda,” Anya says, still in a kneel. “These are the captured Skaikru members. The rest were killed in the battle.”

Bellamy’s figured at this point that the woman in the chair is the Grounder’s leader, even above Anya.

She stands, pacing down the line before her. “How many of our warriors were killed in this battle?”

Anya has not risen. “Altogether, we have lost eighteen.” Those almost all were killed at the first battle, at the bridge, when they thought they had a chance – when Raven’s only successful bomb detonated.

“I see…thank you, Anya. You and your warriors have fought bravely. You are dismissed.”

Anya seems satisfied. She quickly rises and leaves the room, pausing only to give the woman the keys to their chains.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” their leader finally says. “You are all…children.”

Clarke raises her head, a daring move. “We are,” she says.

The woman seems shocked yet impressed that any of them are daring enough to speak to her. “As am I,” she says, stopping in front of Clarke. “I am Lexa, Heda of the twelve clans. You are?”

“Clarke.”

“You are the leader of your people, yes?”

Clarke takes a moment to look at them all but receives no challenges. She’s always been the best leader. They all know this. “Yes.”

Lexa nods, leans down and undoes Clarke’s chains. “You will come with me. We will discuss.”

They’re gone before Bellamy can find the right way to protest.

 

**xix.**

Eventually, they come to an agreement. Slave labour is the best Clarke can do for them – they have no leverage. This is only agreed upon, of course, if Clarke stays with Lexa. For some reason, their Heda is fascinated by Clarke.

Bellamy worries for her, of course, but what is he to do? He can’t – He can’t stop this.

It’s funny, maybe, that he’s back to being a janitor.

Monroe is sold into doing the same work as Bellamy is. They both keep this city, Polis, clean. It’s not glamorous. It’s not –

It’s nothing, until after they’re allowed to go to the worker’s quarters and sleep one night, and they see the shooting star.

“That’s not a regular star,” Monroe says. They’re right. Bellamy studies it closer, watching the trajectory, and he knows.

“The Ark’s finally here,” he realizes. It’s not a happy occasion. Monroe celebrates next to him, but he can’t join them.

He can’t.

 

**xx.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes studying the absence of neighbours,_

_hopeful that he’ll turn a head_

_and he’ll find everything he’s ever wanted._

**xxi.**

It takes a long time, but they’re rescued.

Kane leads the charge, Abby by his side. Bellamy’s one of the first they come across, his features falling when he sees Jaha in the crowd.

“I knew we’d find you down here,” Kane says to him, helping him stand. Bellamy’s weak – overworked, overtired, underfed. But he’ll do what he can, especially when he sees Kane’s death, when he sees the older man burn to death and scream.

Where is all this fire coming from? Who’s vindictive enough to kill them all?

He takes his hand back from Kane, too suddenly, maybe, but his status as slave can pass this off. “You should go,” Kane says, the rest of the crowd taking offensive positions and storming Polis further. “We’ve got it from here.”

_No, you don’t –_

Bellamy’s learned enough to know when he’s useful and when he isn’t, and, well – if he wants any of them to live, maybe he shouldn’t stay.

He allows himself to be escorted out, Monroe close to his side. Two of the guards, unnamed faces from up on the Ark, take them along an underground route, somewhere he’s never been. “Where…?” Monroe starts to ask, but Bellamy shakes his head at them, a subtle cue not to question until everyone’s free and safe and out and living.

Murphy, Monty and Harper are already there, each timid yet defiant in the same breath. He smiles at Monty and Harper but avoids their touch too carefully. He doesn’t think he can handle hearing the inevitable screams.

“You’re alive,” Murphy comments dryly.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t suppose you know how _you’re_ going to go out.”

“No.”

“How selfish.”

For the first time in a long time, Bellamy laughs.

 

**xxii.**

Clarke is the last one to be freed. Lexa follows her.

Instinctively, Bellamy stands, but Clarke takes his wrist and he sees _fire,_ hears _screams_ , knows her body will be burned and limp and if he focuses Murphy’s lying not too far away –

_It’s the end of their days –_

“She helped us,” Clarke says, not just to him, but to all gathered. “She’s…She helped us.”

“Unlikely,” one of the guards comments, but he remains nameless.

“Trust me.” It’s more of a plea coming from Clarke. Normally Bellamy wouldn’t fight this, but it’s been so long since he’s seen her golden halo of hair that he can’t find beauty in it.

“Why hasn’t she helped us before, then?” Murphy says.

“I was not able to do any action without arousing suspicion from my people,” Lexa says. “But I do believe that our conflict began due to an accident. I regret the harsh actions my people have taken. I believe, if your people are to leave our lands without violence, we can negotiate peace.”

Without better actions, the guards start herding them out, down the series of tunnels, towards some pre-decided meeting spot. Bellamy’s weary, but it’s not like they were able to do any better. Maybe Clarke’s done this for them. Maybe that’s why she abandoned them –

did she, though?

He passes Lexa, but not without her worn hand grabbing his shoulder, her finger grazing his exposed neck. The image he gets is terrifying – not because of the bullet he sees enter her heart, but because right behind Lexa’s falling body stands a girl with a golden halo of hair.

“Keep her safe,” Lexa whispers to him, and he nods, because what else is he to do other than achieve complacency in this twisted, joke of a universe?

 

**xxiii.**

He finds out later that Jaha and Octavia were the only two not to make it out of Polis.

Jaha he feels nothing, he knew it was coming but –

It cuts him _so_ deeply that he feels nothing for his sister. “I’m sorry,” Murphy will whisper as they walk towards wherever home will be, but…he doesn’t need to be.

“My responsibility,” he’ll whisper bitterly, already having resigned himself years, years ago.

 

**xxiv.**

Later, he is angry.

“Who shot her?” he asks, approaching Kane, the leader of their rag-tag group of warriors. “ _Who shot my sister?”_

For he knows she fell because of a human weapon, he knows the Grounders don’t know how to fire bullets –

“She was caught in the crossfire,” Kane answers. He’s too honest. He’s too _good_.

“Who?”

“I don’t know, Bellamy. I’m sorry.”

It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s – it’s –

it’s his responsibility.

 

**xxv.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes towards his own two feet,_

_begging them to jump off the precipice_

_yet hoping that they stay._

**xxvi.**

It’s on their travels to neutral territory that they meet Emori.

The instant Bellamy sees her, his blood runs cold. She is the woman in his vision of the future, of Murphy’s death. She is the one who holds his charred body, who screams into the night.

She follows them, maybe because of the immediate and obvious connection she shares with Murphy – they are two lost souls who share the trauma of being abandoned – or maybe because she has no other destination in mind. It’s fine. It’s okay.

But Murphy is not the only one to fall victim to love;

“I’m going back to Polis,” Clarke says, the night he catches her trying to leave their group silently.

“They’ll kill you, Clarke,” he says, standing, _begging_ her not to go.

“Lexa won’t.”

“Clarke, _please_ , you don’t know what will happen!”

“I can’t stay here, Bellamy. Not when she’s _out there._ ”

“Clarke…”

And he’ll see the gun strapped to her waist, and he’ll know that it carries the bullet aching to find a home in Lexa’s heart, and he’ll know that he can’t stop any of this from happening.

Clarke will leave, and he will break just a little more.

 

**xxvii.**

“I know you loved her, Bellamy. It’s okay to – to be sad.”

“Thanks?”

Murphy scowls. “Look, I don’t know how to do this kind of stuff, okay?”

 _It’s okay._ “I know. It’s why I love you, too.”

“What?”

“I guess that, yeah, I love Clarke. But I love you, too.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

 

**xxviii.**

Maybe, because Bellamy’s seen so much death, he’s fallen in love with life.

 

**xxix.**

They finally set up camp, a long distance away from Polis. It’s nothing special at first, but as the months pass, it grows and grows and –

It doesn’t stay good for very long.

Maybe it’s sick, but Bellamy’s started to use Murphy and Emori’s relationship as a meter for how close the end days are. The further in love they fall, the less time it will be before a fire steals their youth.

There’s more to this fire. There _must_ be.

He knows that Kane, Clarke and Murphy all meet their ends there, but how many more? This curse of his, it has a meaning. Otherwise there’s no point. There’s _no point_ –

“Emori!” he calls when he sees her pass. Going against all instincts he’s forged throughout his life, he reaches out and grabs her shoulder to stop her, fingertips brushing her neck for only a second.

_There is fire surrounding her, Murphy’s body next to her as she screams. It isn’t long before her body falls next to his and there they will forever lie –_

_There is fire, but it’s raining._

“Is everything alright?” Emori asks. He’s been standing there too long and she’s learned how to be suspicious.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sorry. Can you tell Murphy I’m looking for him, please?”

She nods curtly, casting a final look over him before departing. He and Emori are not best friends, but they’re close enough to know when something isn’t right.

Murphy does find him mere minutes later. “Emori thinks you’re sick,” is said in place of a greeting. “I’m guessing that you saw her death.”

Bellamy nods, slowly, ducking into a corner of camp, expecting Murphy to follow but still relieved that he does. “Look,” he begins, “something big is going to happen.”

“Okay?”

“Everyone’s death. Everyone’s death is the _same_ now.”

“Bell…”

“No, _listen_! Something unnatural is going to happen and everyone is going to _die_! I know that we need to figure it out and stop it, but I can’t – I can’t do this alone anymore, Murphy!”

Murphy’s not looking at him, choosing to cast eyes over the ground, but he’s listening. “I thought you couldn’t change anything.”

“Maybe I haven’t tried hard enough.”

A deep inhale from Murphy rings chills through Bellamy’s skin. “This isn’t about Octavia, is it?”

“Don’t say her name.”

“Alright, fine.”

“I knew how she was going to die and I couldn’t save her. I _didn’t do enough._ But that’s got to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that none of this means anything?”

_Of course it has._

“I can’t believe that would be true.”

Murphy turns to leave, but Bellamy’s hand grips his wrist, planting them both in place. He closes his eyes and sees –

_He was right; there’s fire and rain at the same time. The ruins of camp lie around Murphy’s body, Emori’s screams loud as ever before she too drops dead. The rain, it’s not normal – it’s burning their bodies._

_If he listens closely, he can hear someone crying._

Murphy manages to free his wrist and backs away, horror in his eyes. “You _wanted_ to see that, didn’t you?”

“I need to know!”

“You – You _wanted_ to!”

“I’m sorry, Murphy! But I’m trying to stop it!”

Murphy’s about to turn and leave Bellamy far behind in his wake, but something makes him hesitate. “Emori,” he says, quietly, eyes turned back to the floor. “Does whatever happen to me happen to her?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll help you.”

It hurts him that Murphy wouldn’t help _just_ him, that his sights are set only on Emori now, but he can’t dwell on it too harshly. The two of them will remain another unopened chapter in Bellamy’s life, the pages long since torn out.

He’ll never know.

 

**xxx.**

_there stands the fallen man,_

_eyes cast up towards the moon_

_as the darkness dies and sunlight reigns_

_he wishes to fade away, too._

**xxxi.**

Clarke comes back to camp three hours later.

She looks like death herself, but it doesn’t stop Bellamy from running towards her and wrapping her in a hug. He’s careful to leave his hands against the fabric of her clothes. This is a moment he does not want to spoil with flames.

“Lexa’s dead,” Clarke whispers.

“I know. I know.”

It’s only fair that she know, too. He and Murphy explain everything, and then upon Murphy’s insistence, Emori is brought up to speed as well.

“What about everyone else?” Clarke finally asks. “Shouldn’t they know, too?”

Bellamy thinks of Kane, Abby, Raven, Monty, Harper, Wells…all the ones he thinks he can trust but isn’t sure if they’d return the favour.

“We don’t talk much, anymore,” he finally says. It isn’t a lie.

 

**xxxii.**

“I know that _someone_ is alive,” Bellamy says. “I can hear someone crying.”

“How do we know that they aren’t dying, too?” Clarke asks. It’s good that she’s here; she and Emori balance out Murphy and Bellamy’s impulsivity.

“It’s all I’ve got,” Bellamy says. “What I’m thinking is – what if that person is alive because _they_ started the fire? What if I find them? Maybe we can stop it that way.”

Even Murphy doesn’t seem impressed by this thought, but none of them have a counter-solution until – “You say that you receive these…visions when you touch someone else?” Emori asks.

“Yeah.”

“What happens if you touch more than one person at the same time?”

“I – I don’t know, actually.”

Emori looks at Murphy first, then at Clarke. “If we are all to die because of this fire,” she says, “then perhaps…”

“If Bellamy sees them all at once, he’ll get a better picture,” Clarke finishes for her, eyes lighting up in excitement for the first time since she returned. “It’s worth a shot.”

Murphy sighs, but he stretches out his hand, Emori and Clarke doing the same. Bellamy hesitates for only a second before he –

_The scene is the same but it flashes, Clarke then Murphy then Emori then back to Clarke –_

_No matter how much the vision changes, he can hear someone’s sobs, always just out of focus. They’re always just too far to one side of the image and he can’t_ see _them. The rain keeps coming down, pouring, now. Each of their bodies is now mutilated, the rain splashing them and burning holes in their skin –_

He jerks his hand away, taking a step back before he regains himself. “What did you see?” Murphy asks, slowly lowering his hand.

“Too much. I saw – I saw too much.”

 

**xxxiii.**

“I don’t know a way to stop the _rain_ ,” Clarke sighs. “Maybe it’s leftover radiation from the first apocalypse?”

“Is that possible?” Murphy asks, sighing.

“Raven would know.”

“Raven’s never been the same after Finn, we all know that.”

“Monty, then.”

“He’s an engineer, not a meteorologist.”

“Wells was always good at science?”

“ _You’re_ good at science, Clarke, and you don’t know.”

“Then you’re saying there’s nothing to be done.”

“I don’t – I don’t know.”

 

**xxxiv.**

There was nothing to be done.

Maybe it was fallout from the radiation, maybe it was a freak accident, _he doesn’t know_. But the fire starts, all the same, warning shouts telling everyone to get outside because half the camp had already been engulfed.

They’re forced outside into the rain which burns them all like acid.

“No!” Bellamy yells, running for _any_ cover as the rain strikes him. Screams sound as the camp begins to fall –

“ _Not yet!_ ”

He finds a small metal shed, built long ago. The roof has a bit of overhang and it is there he finds temporary refuge, but when he looks out at the carnage he sees everything he never wanted to occur.

Murphy falls first. Emori sees this and turns back, tries to grab him, but ultimately is unable to recover herself. She screams. It’s the worst sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Clarke sees him, but she’s all the way across the camp, the flames at her back and the rain staring her down, cornering her to her death.

“ _Clarke!_ ” The guttural scream is his own. In typical Clarke fashion she gives him a soft smile before she makes a run for it, the rain taking her down long before she makes it to him.

He’s sobbing.

It’s a while before he realizes that the cries he’d heard in the distance of his visions were his own, and it’s longer yet before he knows it was never about preventing their deaths but preventing his life.

Octavia, Clarke, Murphy – dead –

he cries long into the morning hours, long past the sun’s final bow.

How typical, for death to be so in love with life that he ends up alone.

 

**xxxv.**

_there lies the fallen man,_

_eyes closed,_

_a smile on his face –_

_alone_

_at_

_last._

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked! if you didn't, that's okay too. lots of love <3
> 
> also yes that weird poem thing i did write don't judge too hard


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